


Milk Run

by hellkitty



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 13:04:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title's a joke at myself and also what I've renamed Fury Road. </p>
<p>You're welcome. </p>
<p>Guess I've got lactation kink on the brain? Anyway, have some Furiosa/Ace and a really big and obvious secret.</p>
<p>Dear god do not encourage me to continue this, BECAUSE I WILL. O_O</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk Run

Ace didn’t earn his rank by being slack on the job. And part of his job was noticing when things were out of place, that weird sixth, or seventh, sense that told him something just wasn’t right.

And the way the Imperator slipped out of the perimeter, padding silently on the soft sand, told him something was up other than a piss break.  

He waited a moment, considering, and then gave into his instinct, getting his legs under him and following her, beyond the ring of stones the caravan had come to rest in.  It took a moment to spot her silhouette, hunched over the ground, a dark shape against the craggy rocks. Was she clutching her chest? Vomiting? Was the water bad? He felt fine, and he always drank the same water.  

He sidled closer, brows knitting in concern, steps slowing.  He could hear a soft sound, like a whimper or a sob, or something kind of both at once, and her shoulders were moving in some way and… “Imperator?”

She jumped, whirling around, flinging a frantic hand over her chest. “I’m fine!” she hissed, quickly. “Go back.”

“Don’t look fine,” he said. Sure wasn’t acting fine. Or normal.  And he squinted, stepping closer, peering into the night shadows. “That blood?” He could see a crescent of darkness under her covering hand. “I can get a kit.”

“It’s not blood,” she said, thrusting his hand away, harshly, with her steel one. “Go away!”  

“Imperator…” And then it hit him. He could smell it, and he could place the smell. That wasn’t the copper metal tang of blood, that was sweet and…. “...milk?”

“Shut up!” Desperation edged her voice, as if if he didn’t say the word it wasn’t real.  “It’s not what you think.”

“Not thinkin’ anything,” he said. “Other than what you’re sneakin’ off here alone to do.”

She folded her arms more tightly over her breasts, then winced. “They said it would dry up.  But it’s not.”  She sounded betrayed, by them, by her own body.  

“So you come out here and…” he scuffed his boot at the sand in front of her, a clump of it wet and dark.  “Doesn’t seem to be working that well.”  

“It’s the best I can do. I’ve got it handled.”

Ace sighed, the frustrated sound he made when one of his Boys did something especially boneskulled, and levered himself onto a ledge of stone in front of her, beckoning her forward. “C’mere.”

“Ace.” She protested, stepping back.

“Faster this way,” he countered. “And not wasting it.”  Milk was a miracle--something turned into life, rich food out of all this nothingness. Something women could do that War Boys couldn't. It was almost sacred, he thought, especially this close up.  And it wasn't something that should just be spilled out on the ground like that. 

She rocked on her feet, torn, and he reached out, hands finding her hips, giving a gentle, guiding tug forward. Not forcing, just nudging.  

And she moved forward, into the splay of his spread legs. He could feel the tension--nerves, fear, embarrassment--vibrate through her as she got close.  

“It won’t hurt,” he said, gently. “Promise it.” Had to hurt less than what she’d been doing--jerking and twisting her own nipple, trying to squeeze it out of her by force.  She gave a nervous sigh, and a nod, and dropped her guarding arms, closing her eyes as he leaned forward, pausing just long enough to breathe the comforting warm sweetness of her, before covering her nipple, gently, as gently as he could, with his mouth, feeling the irritated heat of her abused nipple, tasting the salt of her sweat, and then tonguing the little droplet of milk oozing from the center.  She gasped, and he felt her hands land on his shoulders, skin and bone and metal, but both tense, half-afraid, but as if she was bracing herself more than pushing him away.  He made a soft sound of pleasure as he gave a gentle suck, feeling more milk flood his mouth, hot and sweet and rich.  Better than water, better than anything, even Mother’s Milk, because this was hers, the Imperator’s, and she was trusting him to do this.  His arms wrapped gently around her back, fingertips caressing her body, trying to soothe her, calm her, as he kept suckling, taking the milk from her body.  

He pushed away after a long moment, and his voice was husky sweet. “Should do the other one.”

She gave an almost drowsy nod, pushing aside the band of fabric, offering herself this time, turning her full, swollen breast to his mouth.  

This was even better, the breast full of milk, not half drained, not chafed, and he felt her soften against him, almost leaning against his thigh, curling over him in something like a shivering embrace.  And he could smell her--the engine grease and guzzoline, and the female scent of her like blood and life, and her breast was full, warm and elastic under the hand he cupped to it. And he was breathing her in, drinking her in, and he felt himself stirring with arousal, but he pushed that aside, roughly, as a side effect of the sweet, rich milk flooding his system, like high octaned fuel in an engine’s lines.  

The milk slowed, and he pulled away, with one last, lingering lick, to catch that final, errant drop, and he rested, for a moment, his forehead against her breastbone, with the fullness of her breasts around him, the air redolent with her scent, before he pushed himself to sit back, hands gently moving the bands back to cover her breasts, as though wrapping up a treasure.  “Wasn’t so bad, right?”

She shook her head, hovering close.  

“You need it done again, you get me. No foolishness.”  

“Ace. The War Boys….”

“Won’t know. Don’t need to.  And I don’t need to know anything.” Why a lactating woman was not kept in the Citadel? Did Joe even know? Ace didn’t need to know. He just needed to care for his Imperator.  “Other than you won’t let it get that bad again.”  Wasting milk, her body sore and swollen and suffering.

“It’s not your job,” she said, trying to recover herself.

“Is now. My job’s to do what needs to be done.”  

“You shouldn’t have to. I can take care of myself.”  

He gave a wry grin, even more lopsided than usual, taking her hand and bringing it to his crotch, so she could feel his erection, steelhard. “Reason I’m not getting up right now. Not like I mind.” He shrugged. “And I can take care of that, too, later.”  Wouldn't be the first time he--or any of the crew, really--had spilled themselves over her.  

“It’d be easiest if we slept together,” she said, musing.

Ace leaned back, looking up at her, resting his elbows on the rocks behind him.  She was breathing easier now, breasts less sore, less swollen.  “Would be, yeah.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time an Imperator and an Ace….”  Her fingertips brushed over the fabric over his erection, then down the inside seam of his thigh, considering. 

He shook his head. “Not the first. Not the last. Happens all the time.” Just normally between two men.  “Don’t even have to do anything.” He could hope, but he didn’t expect. He was just half-giddy from the milk, himself, he figured, feeling it warm and sweet inside him, like a promise or a secret.  

“What if I want to? Do something?”  She seemed uncertain, like this was something she’d never thought of, never dared to think of. And why would she, hiding a secret like that?

“Well, then, Imperator,” he said, sitting up, squeezing at her hips with his knees just for a second, “you’re the boss.” 


End file.
